


Katyusha

by matanee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and the ending is kinda happy, and weird, but it's also hurt/comfort, but nevertheless it's really sad, domestic!bucky shows up, it's so angsty that i want to die, which is better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matanee/pseuds/matanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many insane scientists did it take to create the Winter Soldier? How many of them sang Russian songs while Bucky Barnes was dealing with a phantom itch in a limb he had no more?</p><p>
  <i>"Why was I so keen on holding onto you, Steve Rogers? Why were you the last thing that I would have ever wanted to forget?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Katyusha

"Do you know Katyusha?"

James Buchanan Barnes felt the gag straining his mouth until the corners were bleeding and he closed his eyes, feeling hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He could see his reflection in the metal containers, he could see himself lying on that table, he could see what was once his left arm.

The man in the white cape and with the Russian accent turned to look at him above his shoulder, smiling. He held a blade in his hand, and James tried to swallow.

Only to remember that he couldn't.

"Did you have lovers in the triumphant West?" he continued, his voice conversational, and he kept fingering the blade in his hand. "They will be Katyusha. Your mother and your sister will be Katyusha when Russia invades the west and rapes them all. And we will sing the song then-"

And he sang. He sang a song that James didn't understand, but it made him cry anyway. His skin hurt, he had a phantom itch in his left arm that was long lost, he cried out every liquid that was possibly left inside him, and he kept crying, silently and inarticulately begging for, no, not for the singing man to let him go.

_For death._

And once in his life, he felt blessed that his mother was already dead.

***

He asked for Vladimir Bogdanovich and the room number, then, he waited until the nurse caught up with them and offered to lead them to the room herself. Being the war-hero of the United States must have meant something here as well, after all.

"I didn't know you spoke Russian," Sam leaned closer. Steve saw admiration in his eyes and cracked a smile.

"I had to pick up a few things," he shrugged, taking the turn to follow the nurse. "I can't exactly carry Natasha everywhere with me."

Vladimir Bogdanovich was a small, thin, fragile old man, almost the same colour as the bedsheets around him. His eyes, however, they were striking blue, and they searched Steve, as if he was trying to look into his soul.

"Does he speak English?" Sam muttered, and the blue eyes were suddenly on him, accusing and angry.

"I'm old but not deaf, and I am also in the room," he said, the ominose Russian accent tangible in the air. Sam swallowed and Steve patted him on the shoulder, approaching the man's bed slowly.

"Mr. Bogdanovich, my name is-"

"I know exactly who you are," the man cut Steve off, slowly gathering enough strength so he could sit up. "I knew this day would come ever since I saw that you were alive."

Steve stopped in front of the bed, not saying a word.

"You are here because of the Winter Soldier, aren't you?" Bogdanovich smiled. It was like the smile of a dead man and Steve tried to hide his shiver. He ripped his glance from him and stared at the sheets instead. They were blindingly white.

"You found Bucky Barnes after he fell from the train," Steve said. "His file said you were the Soviet officer who found him and brought him back to base."

"It is me," Bogdanovich nodded. Steve looked back at him, finding that his face hasn't changed, not even a little. His stomach slowly started to narrow and he couldn't do anything about it. "And I assume you want to know what happened to him after we found him. But are you sure you are ready to learn about it, Steven? Are you really sure you are ready to learn what happened to your best friend?"

Steve could feel the piercing look of Sam on the back of his neck but he decided to ignore it, nodding firmly as a response.

"He was bleeding out on the snow when I found him," the man started without thinking too much, gazing somewhere far away that Steve could only assume was the past from his point of view. "I asked for help and we were ordered to take him back to base. There was a building raised just for him, and when the scientists took him from us we already knew what we brought in. The project and, therefore, the subject was called the Winter Soldier. A scientist named Lenevski was operating the project, he... He came up with the idea of the metal arm."

Bogdanovich swallowed, seemingly back in reality, and he reached out for his glass to drink. The plastic cup fell from his trembling fingers and Sam was already there, pouring him some water.

"Our orders were to stay around that building, to protect it at all costs. They said we were lucky, not being put on the frontline," Bogdanovich chuckled weakly. "Little did they know that we guarded the most dangerous person in the entire world."

***

"Drink it, James."

They called him James but it all felt wrong. His left side was heavier than the right, his head was swimming from the pain and his eyes were burning, his brain was sore. He eyed the glass of milk in front of him, as if he was expecting it to disappear without having to push it to the ground.

Now that they finished his arm, the gag was removed, but he didn't feel like screaming anymore. Even breathing hurt, let alone making a sound.

"Are you not thirsty?" The man pulled a chair closer, closer than anyone had ever done before. "Would you drink water instead?"

Bucky didn't answer and the man smiled. Bucky would have believed it was kind had he not known what that man was capable of. There was no kindness in men like him, a few months on the front was enough to learn that.

"Do you know the word for milk in Russian?" Bucky looked up at the man's question. "It's moloko. You will soon learn it. You will learn all words, you will learn culture, you will learn about our beautiful Russia. You will learn history, you will learn music. You heard of Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky, eh? You will sing about Katyusha with me, James."

Bucky felt a wave of disgust and he blinked, keeping his face indifferent. The man laughed and patted James on the hand before standing up, putting the chair back.

"Kiselow, Bogdanovich, bring us some music. Our subject needs some culture."

They made him listen to the classics, and he soon decided anything was better than Katyusha.

***

"Why would they make him learn about Russia if they were going to brainwash him later?" Sam shook his head, obviously not understanding. Bogdanovich kept his eyes on Steve as he answered.

"Because the technique wasn't ready yet," he said, his voice colder than before. "As it turned out later, there was a Russian-born American spy amongst us called Kiselow, a sleeper agent. His task was to delay the progress of the Winter Soldier project. He was caught in action when he tried to kill Lenevski."

"The Americans knew of the Winter Soldier project?" Steve creased his brows but Bogdanovich snorted.

"Of course they did, but it didn't matter. Not after Kiselow was caught."

***

The man who was brought in front of him was swimming in sweat, shaking, with a smile near to insane spread on his face. Soldiers filled the room, then, two guards brought in a radio and the man in the white cape followed closely after.

"Well, well," he rubbed his palms together, smiling widely as if he was a child before Christmas. Bucky didn't understand anything, but he constantly felt the gaze of the sweating stranger on himself and it was burning him. Maybe he didn't just look insane. Maybe Bucky was insane. Or, maybe everyone was. He couldn't tell anymore. "How do you say in America? Look what the cat dragged in?"

"You are Bucky Barnes," the stranger held on the ground said, looking right into Bucky's eyes and James watched him, his lips slightly parted. "You are James Buchanan Barnes, you were born in Brooklyn, you-"

"Shut up!" The scientist bellowed in Russian, hitting the man on the face hard. The stranger laughed and spat out one tooth, then, he turned back to Bucky.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hearing his voice after weeks of not using it was like hearing a stranger talking. He should have seen the slap coming when the scientist turned, his face red from anger, then, he marched to the radio and ordered it to be turned on.

Bucky felt the taste of blood in his mouth, but he wasn't even surprised.

"You western rats will be given one last gift before we wash you clean," the white caped man grinned and the song coming from the radio filled the room, the familiar songs hitting Bucky in the chest.

It wasn't Katyusha, nor was it Prokofiev or Shostakovich. It was Billie Holiday, and Bucky had known every single word by heart.

He was sure he had already forgotten.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low_   
_When the world is cold_   
_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_   
_And the way you look tonight._

Everything was still in the room, no one moved, no one spoke. The stranger with blood on his lips started crying and Bucky didn't understand. Bucky felt like the words were burnt into his mind, giving his life a new sense, and he didn't understand. Then, he looked at the scientist and he saw. He knew.

_One last gift before we wash you clean._

The song ended abruptly and Bucky shivered, the silence feeling like an avalanche. Suddenly he felt cold, frozen, as if he was lying in the snow all over again, then, he felt hot blood on his face and the delayed sound of a perfect shot in the head arrived.

The stranger with the blood on his lips wasn't shaking anymore and Bucky went deaf for a second, seeing the scientist's lips moving but not hearing anything. Then, the guard shot the unmoving body twice more before everyone left the room, leaving Bucky and the dead spy behind.

The singing scientist never returned, but Katyusha stayed. And so did the glass of milk on the table, every day.

They made sure he wouldn't forget _everything_.

***

They didn't speak for hours, they didn't speak for days. Not about Bucky, not about Bogdanovich, not about anything, really. They discussed which gate was their plane flying from, they agreed they would catch a taxi when they landed in Washington, and that was it. Sam didn't push it, and Steve didn't want to talk.

They didn't expect Natasha waiting for them at Dulles.

"You were in Russia and you didn't tell me?" she asked, obviously joking with the pouting expression, but Steve didn't appreciate it. He said 'hey' and proceeded to get their bags while Sam stayed behind to give Natasha the explanation.

"Steve interrogated a 97 year old, dying man to learn about the Winter Soldier?" Natasha raised her eyebrows after Sam told her about the last three days. Sam sighed.

"We can't complain, I mean, he gave Steve all the answers he was looking for," Sam said. "I'm just not sure he was ready to handle what he learned."

"Why, what did he learn?"

Sam pressed his lips together, watching Steve from the distance as he waited for their bags to arrive.

"Everything."

***

He stood in front of the fridge and watched. The people passed him by and he stared at his own reflection in the fridge door, eyeing the dairy products. At least 6 kinds of milk were lined up in front of him and he couldn't quite place it in his mind.

The mere thought of drinking even a sip made him want to vomit and, after ten more seconds of frowning, he turned around. The supermarket was crowded and Bucky decided he wouldn't even try to approach certain rows. It would have been useless.

He tried to disappear in his hoodie and the worn out baseball cap that he found on the street. He walked up to the cashier. A few days before he tried to do what people called "self checkout", but, while attempting to push the buttons a little harder in case the machine didn't sense his touch, he managed to break in the screen and people weren't too happy about that. He decided he would go with the classic method and he lined up after an old lady, placing his only item on the conveyor belt. It was a razor and a shaving cream combo and, compared to all the things the lady was about to buy, he felt truly odd for needing only one thing in such a huge supermarket where there were 6 kinds of milk to choose from.

To avoid the looks, he swiftly picked up a pack of gums from the shelf that offered more things to buy, like chocolate and magazines and condoms, but he felt like it was safer to just go with the gums.

There was a moment of confusion about coupons and loyalty cards when he finally got to pay, but he managed to buy both things without breaking anything this time, and he made it to the exit. He didn't expect to see the red haired woman waiting for him outside - the red haired woman who fought him with Steve Rogers. The Black Widow the people in the television called her, and he felt his metal fingers under the glove curling around the shopping bag.

She noticed and she smiled.

"Easy soldier, I am here to talk."

She looked down at the bag in his hand, then, she looked back to his face, deep into his eyes. He could tell that she had her weapon on her, that they were probably surrounded by other agents, but she also seemed honest and confident. It was an open space, a parking lot full of people on a Saturday morning - if she wanted to fight, she would have followed him until they were out of the crowd.

"You must be running out of money," she folded her arms in front of her chest. "Or you might just steal the rest?"

"I'm not a thief," he murmured, glancing down at the concrete. A child just ran past him and he blinked, tensing. He didn't like people, and he wanted out of here. Yet, something told him to stay, and he was mad enough to listen to that something instead of his common sense.

"I would like you to see someone," she said, slowly walking closer. Bucky tensed again but he kept his eyes on her this time, watching every single movement. "I kept an eye on you for a while, you are not exactly unpredictable now that no one is there to tell you where to go. I didn't tell anyone, though. Guessed you needed some time to adjust."

"Why do you care?" he muttered, honestly not understanding.

"It might come as a surprise but we are very much alike," she stopped in front of him, closer than what he thought he would find comfortable. "It's likely that I can't even begin to imagine what happened to you, but now I know everything about you, and I know that where I'm about to take you will make you happy. And that's everything you wished for before the Soviets started to brainwash you."

"Why do you think Steve Rogers would make me happy?"

She was a trained agent and the surprise shouldn't have been visible on her face, but this only meant she wasn't here as an agent. And that somewhat reduced the tension inside Bucky, even though he held his guards.

"Because while Lenevski was singing about Katyusha over and over again, all you were capable of was screaming Steve's name until you had no voice left and you finally forgot who Steve was at all," she murmured and Bucky's heart caught up speed. His face flinched and the Black Widow took a step back, then another.

"You can follow me now, get in my car and let me take you to Steve, or you can go home and figure out the mysteries of shaving all alone in that sad and pre-war flat you are renting with the cockroaches. Your choice."

He watched the Black Widow slowly turning around and walking to her car. Then, he glanced down at the bag in his hand.

With that same movement, he dropped it into a trash can.

***

The car flied in the air and then turned once, twice. The tires screeched on the snow but the sound of the wind suppressed it almost completely. The Winter Soldier stood there and watched the woman flying out of the car through the windshield. She was already dead, she was bleeding so much.

The Winter Soldier didn't know who he had come to kill. He followed a license plate number, he followed coordinates, he followed orders. He followed a plan.

_Make it look like an accident._

The car was upside down on the road and the wheels were still spinning, the engine was smoking. The Winter Soldier walked past the dead body of a dark haired woman, approaching the car and leaning down to see who was in the front seat.

The man inside was still alive, even if only barely. He was struggling to stay conscious, to somehow undo his seatbelt, but he was bleeding heavily from the head. He locked eyes with the Winter Soldier and he blinked. He was in pain and his lips trembled.

"J-James?"

_You are James Buchanan Barnes, you were born in Brooklyn, you-_

Bucky Barnes suddenly felt like throwing up. Even though he had nothing in his stomach, he felt the need to turn himself inside out and turn back time so he could be the one dying in that car. The Winter Soldier's metal fingers curled but Bucky Barnes gasped, feeling as if a gust of wind could push him off his feet any moment.

"I am Howard," the man whispered, pure despair dripping from his voice. Bucky kept staring at him, wishing he was only dreaming, giving his real hand to grab the one reaching out for him in fear. "Howard Stark. We were friends."

"Howard... Stark," Bucky Barnes repeated, the words feeling tasteless in his mouth. Yes, he remembered. He remembered and he lost his balance, breaking down in the snow. He squeezed the hand in his own and he felt the tears freezing on his face. He heard sirens in the distance and he closed his eyes.

_You won't have much time. Make it look like an accident. Make us proud._

He heard Katyusha inside his head, he heard it all. The Winter Soldier opened his eyes and reached out with his left, smashing Howard Stark's skull against the concrete. He died before he would have had the time to scream in pain.

By the time the sirens arrived, the Winter Soldier was gone.

Back at the base, the scientists realized one brainwashing was not enough. Bucky Barnes wanted to burn down the laboratory, but he was stripped onto a bed and calmed down. Then, Bucky Barnes was gone, and with him went the guilt and disgust, the self-hatred and the wish to die.

One brainwashing was not enough. From that moment on, Howard Stark was nothing but a completed mission.

***

"It's a dead end, then? No tracks?"

"Nothing that I know of."

Steve stared down at the file in front of him, the pictures of a frosted and a young Bucky Barnes painfully burning into his mind. It has been three weeks since they returned from Russia, but there was still no trace they could follow to get to Bucky. Apparently, involving Tony Stark in this was completely useless and it only earned them a few jokes that Sam was surely keeping for later, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was way too small, insignificant and busy with other things to focus on the Winter Soldier.

For the first time in his life, Steve started to miss Nick Fury.

"I start to think he doesn't want to be found," he closed the file with a sigh.

"Congratulations, you only needed 5 months to figure out what I've been telling you from the start," Sam ran his palm over his face.

"No, I mean- What if he regained his memories but he still doesn't want to see me?" Steve asked quietly. Even if he wanted, he wouldn't have been able to hide how painful it was only to think about it. "After all, it's all my fault that he ended up here. He probably won't be able to drink a glass of milk in his entire life and it's my fault!"

"How could that possibly be your fault, man?" Sam straightened, his voice dripping with incredulity. "Were you the one who forced milk down his throat, sang creepy Russian songs to him and turned him into a walking killing machine without emotions?"

Steve bowed his head.

"I let him fall."

The only thing stopping Sam from giving a rocket was the sound of the opening door in the hall. Steve furrowed his brows, apparently not expecting visitors, but he sat back on his chair when he saw Natasha in the doorway.

"I gave that key for emergency," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

"It is emergency," she stated casually, hands in her pockets. "Don't you see? I'm all over the place, panicking."

"Very funny," Steve stood, walking over to the hi-fi. He wasn't exactly sure why but he couldn't stand silence for longer periods, especially with the sound of cars and horns and people out there while he was all alone in his flat. He was proud of his vinyl collection, and he ran through them swiftly, looking for the one that fit his mood at the moment. It was hard to find one. "Any special requests on what should I put on?"

"I don't assume you have some R. Kelly," Sam suggested with little hope in his voice. Steve smiled.

"Something little more oldstyle?"

"You could put on Billie Holiday."

Steve jumped to his feet so swiftly that he almost brought down the entire shelf with the hi-fi on it, but he stepped away in time. He still felt dizzy when he took in the sight of Bucky, his best friend looking like he came from the seventh hell. His clothes were dirty and torn, at least a size bigger than him, his face was tired and battered, his posture tense and his expression confused. For a moment, Steve couldn't decide whether what he saw was a mirage or reality, but, seeing the knowing smile on Natasha's face, he settled with the latter.

"Sam, you look like you could use a coffee," she turned to Sam, one eyebrow raised, but he was already on his feet, nodding slightly.

"It's on me," he muttered, taking in the sight of Bucky with one long look, then, he looked at Steve for reassurance. The look on Steve's face was an answer alone, and they left the flat without further comments, closing the door behind them quietly.

"Which song did you think of?" Steve asked carefully. He didn't even dare blink, he just stared at Bucky with his heart beating in his throat.

Bucky tensed, obviously trying to make his brain work and recall some memories, but he failed and he shook his head.

"I don't know. I keep hearing a song in my head but all I know is that it's sung by a Billie Holiday."

"You liked her," Steve said, picking a vinyl from the shelf and taking it out of its case. "You liked her a lot."

Bucky slightly furrowed his brows, staring down at the carpet.

"Did I?"

"You said if it weren't for her songs, you would have never got yourself a girl," Steve smiled, putting on the vinyl and turning up the volume. The song started and it filled the room, making Steve's heart pound in his ears even louder. He watched every little change on Bucky's face, ready to turn it off in case it triggered something inside him. It was 'The Way You Look Tonight' and Bucky stood in one place, listening seriously.

"It was their last gift," Bucky murmured, slowly lifting his gaze to Steve's. "They said it was their last gift before they washed us clean. It was the last song I heard."

Steve's hand dropped next to him and he took a deep breath, slowly stepping closer to Bucky. Then, as if he just changed his mind, he stopped right there.

"Bucky-"

"I have done horrible things," Bucky said, a broken half-smile lingering on his face. Steve swallowed. "I shouldn't be alive."

"It wasn't you, Bucky."

"But I remember everything," Bucky chuckled with such amount of disgust in his voice that it nearly turned Steve's stomach. "Doesn't it make me horrible, then? Doesn't it make me a murderer, a monster, a- the _Winter Soldier?_ "

Steve felt like there was a bunch of bricks pulling down his stomach. He wanted to go closer, he wanted to make all that self-loathing disappear, but he couldn't speak for long moments.

"You are not a villain, Bucky. You are not the Winter Soldier," Steve said quietly. "You are a good person, you have always been. You were just forced to do horrible things."

"I killed Howard and Maria Stark," Bucky's voice broke and he pressed his lips together. Steve shook his head. "I killed our friend."

"Would you do it again? With a clear mind?"

Bucky closed his eyes, the broken smile appearing on his lips again.

"You know that I wouldn't."

"If you know that I know then you should know too," Steve started walking closer slowly. "You can't put it behind your back, you probably never will. But you can't identify yourself as the monster who had done that. Howard Stark would understand."

"Would he?" Bucky sniffed, disbelief written all over his face. "Because I held his hand when I realized who he was, he called me James, he thought I was there to save him. And then you know what I did?"

Steve didn't answer and Bucky chuckled again, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before he looked up again, hatred burning in his eyes.

"I smashed his head against the ground and killed him. I-" his voice broke again and he turned his head, wiping the tears from his face quickly. He stayed silence for long moments, then, he looked at Steve. His voice was deep and almost angry now. "The Black Widow said I was screaming for you. I was screaming for you when they washed me clean of you. Why was I so keen on holding onto you, Steve Rogers? Why were you the last thing that I would have ever wanted to forget?"

Steve bit on the inner side of his lips and he felt the taste of blood but he didn't care. He only stopped when he was already standing right in front of Bucky, when he could feel the shallow breaths he took in order to calm himself. His iron fist was clenched and Steve looked down, seeing nothing but an abyss between them, no matter how close they were to each other.

He remembered when all of this was different. And by remembering, he knew just the right thing to say.

"Because you made me a promise when my mother died," he looked up, watching the struggle behind those tired and old eyes. "You promised me you would be here 'til the end of the line, and you were never the one to go back on your word. I couldn't save you and it's all my fault but I want to make it right, Buck. I want to be there 'til the end of the line, you just have to let me try. You- You have to let me try."

The song slowly reached its end in the background and all that broke the silence of the room was Bucky's heavy breathing. His hair fell into his face and he kept his eyes strictly on Steve's chest, thinking for minutes before speaking.

"I bought a shaving kit today and I threw it out," he said with all seriousness and looked up at Steve, earning a surprised glance right away. "I will need to shave. And to cut my hair."

The first shock soon turned into something like the urge to cry, but that swiftly turned into the urge to laugh and Steve did laugh, looking down again only to see that Bucky's hand was eased and so was his entire being.

He kept laughing, then, he nodded with two hands on his hips.

"Make that only a shave."


End file.
